


Jurassic Putt

by phonecallfromgod



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: 90s Romcom Energy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Georgie Denbrough, Dinosaur Mini Golf, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-29 14:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phonecallfromgod/pseuds/phonecallfromgod
Summary: “What is that? Are we doing passes now?" Lex asks“No,” Tim says, “But- look if a guy with one arm says he has a weekly pass just let him play.”“You gonna explain that one to me?” Lex says.“Nope.”Georgie needs to learn how to play mini-golf for a date and Tim's family just so happens to own the local dinosaur themed mini-golf place. Featuring so many anatomically incorrect dinosaur models, The Awful Couple, and a lot of side eye from older siblings.





	Jurassic Putt

There’s not really a ‘normal’ crowd for 11 am on a Tuesday at a dinosaur themed mini-golf place, but the dude hovering over by the counter is giving off total standoffish vibes, even to Tim who, at least according to Lex, has the emotional awareness of a jellyfish. Tim shoves a scorecard into the book he was reading to hold his page and hops over the counter with practiced ease. 

“Hey,” he says. “Can I help you with something?” 

The guy whirls around, looking somehow both sheepish and defensive all at once. “I um,” he says, “sorry this is going to sound like, really really stupid.” 

“I’m sure it’s not,” Tim offers, and honestly it probably won’t even be the dumbest thing he hears today, but he thinks saying that out loud might be a bad idea. 

“Okay, um,” the guy winces, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’m supposed to go on this date, with this guy, on Friday. And I sort of just stupidly agreed that we could go mini-golfing without taking into consideration the fact that I have never even _been _mini-golfing and perhaps can’t actually mini-golf at all.” 

“Alright,” Tim says. “So did you need someone to like, walk you through how it works or…?” 

“It’s not really that it’s more, um,” the guy says turning slightly, and Tim notices abruptly that his right arm just sort of ends just underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

“Oh!” Tim blurts, and then immediately feels himself flushing, “Sorry, I, uh, sorry. Okay. I mean that’s. That’s fine. You can totally work around that. With some practice. Probably.” 

Tim feels like somehow that was the wrong thing to say, but the guy just nods enthusiastically, “Right exactly,” he says. “Which is why I was wondering if you guys have like a membership or anything like that? I know it’s not listed, but I thought maybe…?” 

They don’t have memberships. Not even a little bit. Which from a business standpoint makes sense, it’s not like dinosaur themed mini-golf is something most people want to do on the regular, but something about this guy makes Tim ignore the reality of the situation entirely and “Oh yeah we totally have weekly passes,” is out of his mouth before he can overthink the whole thing. 

“Seriously!? That’s perfect,” the guys says. “How much?”

Oh jeez he did not think through any of this. 

“Thirty bucks?” 

“You don’t sound super sure about that.” 

“We just changed the prices,” Tim says hastily. “I think we’re out of physical ones right now, but if you give me your name you can like, go get started and I’ll come bring your pass to you.”

“Awesome,” he says, and Tim slides him a putter over the counter and gestures at the basket of golf balls. 

“Name?” Tim asks, because that vaguely seems like the kind of thing you’d put on a hypothetical weekly pass. 

“Georgie,” he says. “Well George but like, it doesn’t have to be my legal name I’m assuming? Last name, Denbrough. D-E-N-B-R-O-U-G-H.” 

“Got it,” Tim says, jotting it down with a golf pencil onto a little paper pad behind the desk, right over the face of a cartoon triceratops. “I’m Tim, by the way.” 

“I know,” Georgie says. “You have a nametag on.” 

Tim can feel his face flushing, but Georgie just grins at him as he snags a ball from the basket, putter tucked under his arm looking incredibly pleased with himself. 

Tim’s making the stupid fake weekly pass when Lex comes in a little before noon. 

“What’re you doing?” she says, peering over his shoulder at the computer monitor, her braid smacking him in the face a little. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tim says, quickly closing out of photoshop. 

“Oh-kay,” Lex says unconvinced, disappearing into the back room for a minute and reappearing in her uniform polo. She drops into the seat beside Tim and stares at him knowingly, one of her legs kicked up on the counter as she pushes herself back and forth in the rolling chair. 

“Get your feet off the counter, that’s gross,” Tim says, accepting defeat and reopening his photoshop. He might not be as good as Lex but he’s pretty impressed with how realistic the pass he’s managed to put together in about half an hour looks.

“Somehow I don’t think they’ll fire me,” Lex says, but pulls her foot down anyways. “What is that? Are we doing passes now?” 

“No,” Tim says, “But— look if a guy with one arm says he has a weekly pass just let him play.” 

“You gonna explain that one to me?” Lex says. 

“Nope.” 

“Tim, ugh, you’re using the wrong vector file for the logo, here let me do it,” she says and practically pushes him out of the way. 

“I am not going to miss when you go back to college.” 

“Yes you will,” Lex says. “I think we have some cardstock left in the office, we’ll print it on that so it’ll look nice.” 

Tim rolls his eyes at her, but he has to admit that it does look pretty good when it comes off the printer five minutes later. It’s not busy so he leaves Lex alone in the office and heads out onto the course to find Georgie. It’s pretty empty so Tim spots him quickly over by the triceratops at the 17th hole. 

“Hey!” Tim calls, taking a shortcut underneath the brontosaurus that cuts the course in half. “How’s it going?” 

“Uh, well, you know,” Georgie says, lining up a putt and then shooting the ball clean over the hole and back to the other side of the course. He looks up at Tim. “I’m ready for the major leagues.” 

“Mhmmm,” Tim says. 

“Hey don’t knock it, I taught myself how to write left handed in two months when I was like, eight, so this should be a piece of cake,” Georgie takes another swing, missing the hole completely as it ricochets off the sides of the course. 

“Close enough,” Georgie says and taps the ball into the hole with his foot. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Tim says. 

“I’ve got a week.” 

“Speaking of,” Tim says extracting the real-fake pass from his pocket, “you’re all set, just show the pass when you come in. But it’s usually just me or my sister.” 

“Family business?” Georgie asks, grabbing the ball from the hole. Tim nods. “That’s awesome, heir to the dino golf fortune.” 

Tim snorts and follows Georgie to the 18th hole, a mechanical Tyrannosaurus that snaps its jaws, head and tail moving back and forth.“Oh whoa,” Georgie grins. “He’s a big fella.” 

“She,” Tim corrects. 

“Is that like boats?” 

“What?” 

“You know how boats are girls? Do animatronic dinosaurs follow the same rules?” 

“No, it’s, um, she has eggs,” Tim says, feeling like a needless know-it-all. Georgie doesn’t seem off put however, nodding sagely. 

“I’m sorry beautiful,” he says, so sincerely that Tim’s heart is a fraction of an inch away from demanding a summer wedding.“Gotta treat a lady right.” 

“I’ll let you finish up,” Tim says, the remembrance that Georgie is here in the first place practicing for a date, dousing any wannabe daydreams with ice water. 

“You do realize I didn’t pay for this yet right?” Georgie says when Tim hands him the pass. 

Tim blinks. “Totally,” he lies. 

Georgie clicks his tongue at him, like he knows he’s lying and drops his ball at the start of the course, repositioning it with his foot. He’s so focused that it seems rude to watch. 

“Just uh, come meet me at the front office when you’re done,” Tim says, leaving him to it. 

Him and Lex are in the middle of checking in a birthday part of tweens when Georgie walks in, setting his putter on the counter gently and waiting patiently while Tim resolves an almost-fight over ball colours. 

“How’d the T-Rex treat you?” Tim asks, when the last of the birthday party is being led out onto the course by Lex. 

“She’s a perfect lady,” Georgie says. “I think I’m maybe just not her type.” 

“Yeah, she’s not mine either,” Tim says in a rush of boldness. “That’s thirty,” he interjects, jabbing at buttons on the ancient bulky cash register so he doesn’t have to see Georgie’s reaction. 

Georgie pays cash, which shouldn’t be endearing and somehow is, shoving his change into a bright green duct tape wallet with one single blue strip on it, like it had come apart and been lovingly patched back together. Or maybe it was an intentional design choice. Or maybe he just ran out of green tape and Tim is way over thinking everything, as usual. 

“See ya Tim,” he says. “Like, probably in the next twelve hours” 

Tim laughs even though it’s barely a joke, and even though he’s not looking at her he can feel Lex’s eyes on him as she walks back into the office. 

“Sooooooooo,” Lex says knowingly when the door jangles shut behind Georgie. 

“Shut up,” Tim says, which is as good as admitting everything, and turns on his heel, muttering some excuse about going to get balls from the return at the 18th hole. 

“So do you like, have a favourite one?” Georgie asks abruptly on Wednesday afternoon. He’s on his second round, having already done the whole course in the morning. Tim is practically lying underneath a parasaurolophus so he can retouch the paint that’s chipped away from age or weather or a stray ball. Lex hates having to do touch ups so she always foists it onto him, but honestly Tim doesn’t mind, it’s kind of fun and from this angle with them looming over him it almost seems like they’re living breathing things. 

“Well,” Tim says, setting the children’s dinosaur plate he uses as a makeshift palette on the ground beside him and scooting out from under the parasaurolophus a little bit, “my favourite dinosaur of all time is probably the pachycephalosaurus, you know the ones with the,” Tim gestures vaguely around the top of his head, “The big bump thing, over by hole 6?” 

“Wait say it again?” Georgie asks, like he’s going to be quizzed on this later. 

“Pachycephalosaurus,” Tim says, making sure to enunciate each syllable. “But I think my actual favourite of our figures is the baby brachiosaurus over by the lake, which I feel like is literally _everyone’s_ favourite but it’s just so charming, every time I walk by I have to pet him like, I can’t not! Even though the proportions are way off, I mean none of them are really _that _accurate but we’re not claiming to be a museum. It’s just fun.” 

When he looks over at him Georgie isn’t practicing any longer, just watching him thoughtfully. “Anyway, that one’s my favourite. What about you?” 

“I’m not sure yet,” Georgie says. “I’ll get back to you.” 

Tim’s heart thumps heavily in his chest and he’s immensely thankful that his current position means it’s not weird for him to just lay back on the ground for a minute, fumbling around for his paint palette. He can hear Georgie moving around behind him, putting the ball for a while before Tim hears the satisfying clink of it landing in the hole. Georgie makes a pleased little exhale. 

“Well I’m off,” he says after another moment, and Tim tips his head all the way back so he can see him without having to move. “I’ll uh, see you later?” 

Tim nods, which is harder to do than it sounds when your head is almost entirely upside down, but Georgie seems to get the idea. Normally Tim goes through the course in order to do touch ups but that seems a little overeager so once he can hear Georgie by the next hole he skips all the way to hole 14, where a triceratops looms over the entire course, her feet planted on the green and always in need of touching up from constant battering. 

He doesn’t bump into Georgie again until he’s taking his afternoon break, eating some cold leftover sesame chicken out of a tupperware container at one of the picnic tables in front of the snack counter. The snack counter, Raptor Canteen, is closed right now, and Tim is painfully aware that he must look sort of pathetic sitting alone in front of it with his leftover chinese and ratty paperback novel. 

“Not to besmirch your future family heirlooms,” Georgie says, sitting across from him at the table, “but the raptors are definitely the worst ones.” 

Tim half chokes half laughs, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, “No they suck, you’re right.” 

“Why are their arms so…?” Georgie holds out his arm stiffly and does a jazz hand. “I’m no paleontologist but that seems super wrong. And they’re so? Upright? Why?” 

“Hey I just work here,” Tim says, “I’m not responsible for our inaccurate dinosaur models.” 

“Do you like it? Working here I mean?” Georgie taps Tim’s foot lightly with his own and Tim’s not entirely sure if it’s on purpose or not. 

“I mostly do,” Tim says. “Weekends get kind of crazy sometimes, and some people just kind of suck, but I figure as far as places you could work because your grandpa owns it this one isn’t too bad.” 

Georgie nods thoughtfully, still looking at the raptors before abruptly reaching over the table and grabbing for Tim’s book. “What’re you reading?” 

“It’s—” Tim says, forcing himself to not grab it back, “it’s just, like, something dumb to read on break.” He’s usually the last person to speak ill of genre fiction, but there’s a difference between him defending his ‘trash’ novels to his dad and having to justify a mafia romance novel he bought at the airport to a cute boy he just met. 

Georgie reads the back thoughtfully for a long moment. “I don’t think it sounds dumb. I bet you and my brother would get along he’s always reading like, Victorian bodice rippers you know?” 

He slides the book back across the table like an olive branch and when Tim reaches for it their fingertips brush for an electric half second, Georgie smiling more with the crinkling of his eyes than his mouth which is only half quirked in bemusement. 

“Hey Tim can you come, like, actually do your job please?” Lex calls loudly from the window of the front office, impeccable timing as always. 

“Sorry,” Tim says. 

“Duty calls,” Georgie says. “I should actually probably head out. You here tomorrow?” 

Tim nods, even though he doesn’t normally work Thursdays, but he’s sure someone will trade shifts with him if he asks. 

“Stop flirting on the clock,” Lex says, stapling leaflets together when he walks back into the office. 

“I wasn’t,” Tim says, “he literally has a date on Friday. That’s why he’s here. He’s practicing. For his date.

Lex puts the stapler down with a metallic clicking. “_Tim_,” she says exasperatedly. 

“Look I’m not proud about it either, but if it makes you feel better I’ll take your shift tomorrow.” 

She stares at him incredulously for a long moment, but she doesn’t say anything when he pencils himself into the schedule, and just goes back to stapling. 

Tim almost immediately regrets switching Lex for Thursday shifts because Thursday shifts totally blow. It’s the unofficial beginning of the weekend, but heavier on school groups and kids summer camps and big family reunion groups. Which means a lot of having to stagger groups of screaming kids and annoyed parents and a lot of ‘please don’t climb on the spinosaurus’ and Tim is so exhausted by the time his lunch break rolls around that he spends most of it lying in the backseat of his jeep. 

The only thing that motivates him to peel himself off the backseat and head back into the belly of the beast is knowing that whoever is on break next is probably just as desperate to get out of there as he was. Well, that and, another thing. 

“Oh thank god,” Olivia says when he walks back into the front office. “Brady just went on lunch. Can you go out and keep an eye on the course, we just got another summer camp group and these kids looked in the mood to hit some things with clubs.” 

“For sure,” Tim says. 

“First thing, are we doing passes now? Some guy came in with one but he said he got it from you so I figured it was legitimate.” 

“Oh, that’s. That’s a new thing we’re trying,” Tim lies. 

“Thing the second, Guess who’s here?” 

“Hmm, who?” 

Olivia leans in conspiratorially. “The Awful Couple. Or wait, do you remember them? I think that was maybe before your time.” 

“Maybe? Oh, wait you mean the couple who Lex caught under the brontosaurus?” 

“Yes! Oh my god,” Olivia gushes, “They used to come here _all the time _and just get into like, full domestics on the course and then the brontosaurus thing happened and we were like, well at least they’ll probably be too embarrassed to come back for a while. But I guess there’s a statute of limitations or something cause they’re back.” 

Tim snorts. “Well hopefully all the terrifying middle schoolers will keep them in line.” 

“We can only hope,” Olivia says, turning her attention to the group who’ve just walked in. 

The summer camp situation is shockingly unchaotic, and Tim exchanges a nod of solidarity with a counsellor who is calmly dressing down a group of elementary school boys for waving their clubs around. It takes him a weirdly long time to spot Georgie (not that he’s looking for him, not at all) because he’s looking for a singular figure, so it’s a bit of a surprise when he spots him with two college-looking guys posing for a photo beside the figure which is either a really poorly done allosaurus or an even worse albertosaurus. 

“ —know it’s kind of tacky but it’s funny,” Georgie is saying as Tim walks up. 

“Well it’s definitely tacky,” says one of the guys, holding up a cell phone to take the picture. Tim would gamble on him being Georgie’s brother or maybe his cousin, since he looked kind of like a shorter more gingery Georgie. 

“God if only I had my prosthetic, that would just be icing,” Georgie says, posing for the photo, his right arm held up to the something-saurus as he poses into a fake grimace. Tim sees the exact moment he spots him, his face shifting into bemusement for a split second before he goes back to his photo. 

“Where is your prosthetic anyways?” the other guy asks. He looks vaguely familiar in a way Tim can’t place. 

“Grew out of it. Thanks puberty!” Georgie says, gesturing for the phone. “Hey Tim.” 

“Hey,” Tim says, feeling weirdly sheepish. “What’s up?” 

“Group study sesh,” Georgie says. “Guys this is Tim, Tim this is my brother Bill and this is Stanley and ...where did Eddie and Richie go?” 

Stanley looks over his shoulder and gestures vaguely. “They’re back...over there.”

“So Tim, Georgie tells me your family owns this place, that’s pretty cool,” Bill says with the exact intonation of a dad in a rom com. It makes him feel like he’s auditioning for something, even though Tim knows that’s totally irrational.

Tim just nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, it’s fun. Get to meet lots of cool people.” 

Georgie grins, and Stanley tips his head at him, squinting. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

“Um, do you come here a lot because I work here,” Tim says. 

“I had put that together yes,” Stanley says, and behind him Georgie snorts and then tries to cover it with a cough. 

“Don’t be a dick,” Bill scolds his brother. 

“Hey no it’s cool, me and Tim have a rapport, right?” 

“For sure,” Tim says, his face heating up. “Anyways, just wanted to check in with you guys, make sure everything’s cool. I know we’re super busy today.” 

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Georgie says. “I got a hole in two!” 

“Major leagues!” Tim says, not too enthusiastically since there’s other people watching. He clears his throat. “Anyways— ” 

“Did you do co-op at the natural history museum?” Stanley says abruptly, looking down at something on his phone. 

“Yeah, yeah, I did. Last spring. Oh!” Tim says, realization dawning. “Yeah, you’re Mike Hanlon’s boyfriend right?” 

Stanley lights up. “Yes. Yeah we met at the—” 

“—At the fundraising party right, right. Hey man, yeah, how’s Mike?” 

“He’s good,” Stanley says, grinning fondly like just the thought of his boyfriend is warming him up from the inside. Mike had been the same way, always melting a little when he got a call or text from him (Tim had seen over his shoulder one time that Stanley was in his phone as Stan the Man ❤️). 

“But yeah, he just got promoted so he’s pretty busy,” Stanley continues, pushing his curls off his forehead.

“Yeah not like you slackers, out in the middle of the day on a Thursday,” Georgie says, leaning on his putter. 

Stan blatantly ignores him, mouth pressed in a thin line, “I’ll tell him I saw you, it sounds like the new summer students aren’t nearly as good as the group you were in.” 

“Yeah, please tell him I said hi,” Tim says. “Also I know, I know none of our models have feathers. They’re like, all from the 80s so forgive the inaccuracies.” 

Stan lets out a laugh that’s mostly an exhale and Tim thinks he’s maybe half-imagining it, but Georgie’s eyes seem to dart between the two of them. He licks his lips. “Hey uh, we should maybe move on to the next hole, keep it moving. It’s pretty busy.” 

“Yeah, cool,” Stan says. “Nice to see you Tim.” 

“Yeah, you too!” Tim says, and is surprised when Georgie doesn’t turn to go with his brother and his friend. He doesn’t say anything, just gazes off into the middle distance over towards the flock of pterodactyls on the roof of the maintenance building. 

“So,” Tim says. “Uh— ” 

He has literally no idea what he’s going to say, feeling like he’s somehow done something wrong, broken a rule that he didn’t know existed in the weird acquaintanceship he’s struck up with Georgie. So it’s almost a relief when two more college age guys come stomping up to the hole they’re standing at, arguing loudly. 

“ —literally the phrase is ‘swimming with the fishes’ no one would ever _say_— ” 

“ —I’m not saying the phrase isn’t— oh my god shut up, shut up and listen to what I am saying dickwad— ” 

“ —You can use fish or fishes they’re both grammatically correct— ” 

“ —I swear to _god _if you don’t stop quoting an episode of _Kim Possible _as proof— ” 

“Fine! Fine! I’ll go Mirriam Webster on your ass! Hey Georgio,” the guy with the glasses says abruptly. “Solve a bet for us.” 

“Oh my god do not bring Georgie into this,” the other guy says. 

“Okay, you, rando,” Glasses guy says to Tim, “solve a bet for us.” 

“And we’re going!” Georgie says, grabbing Tim by the arm. “Have fun guys. And stay away from the brontosaurus!” 

“Rude!” Non-glasses guy scoffs. 

“Wait, sorry,” Georgie says, dropping Tim’s arm abruptly when they get to the next hole where Stanley and Bill are already playing. “I don’t know why I—that was really— Sorry. Richie and Eddie they’re just. A lot. I thought you might want to get out of there.” 

“What did you mean brontosaurus?” Tim asks, half because he’s curious and half because it’s something to think about that isn’t Georgie or hand or arm. 

Georgie rolls his eyes. “It’s so dumb, they like, hooked up underneath the big brontosaurus like, in the middle of their first date.”

“_They’re _the awful couple,” Tim says. “Wow, call it a stereotype but I always assumed they were straight.” 

“Wait, sorry, go back. Awful couple!?” Georgie says beaming like this is Christmas. 

“Yeah they’re sort of um, well, famous. Or infamous is maybe more accurate. But everyone here knows the lore about the Awful Couple who used to come here all the time and then got caught doing, or, getting, or well. You know,” Tim’s face is on fire. “They got caught under the brontosaurus.” 

“Oh that is too good,” Georgie says gleefully. 

“Wait did you say ...did you say _first date_,” Tim asks incredulously. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“That is _news _to literally everyone who works here.” 

Georgie laughs. “Yeah, no, I know, I know. Old married couple etcetera etcetera.” 

Tim shoots a glance back over his shoulder to where glasses is affectionately swatting at his boyfriend while he tries to putt, his boyfriend looks at him with annoyance but can’t quite pull it off. 

“I have to admit,” Georgie says, “Them being the Awful Couple does make my 12-year-old-self feel very vindicated. Eddie and my brother are best friends so he was my first baby gay crush and I was uh, not pleased when he started dating Richie.”

“Mine was Dr. Grant,” Tim says. 

“From the dinosaur show!? Cute.” 

“Shut up,” Tim scoffs. “I got to meet him once when I was a kid and I was so starstruck.” 

Georgie hums. “Hey, uh, the girl at the counter was kind of weird about my pass when we came in. I told her that like, you’d approved it so she just sort of shrugged and went along with it, but it was weird. Is she new or something?” 

“Oh yeah totally,” Tim lies. “She’s new.” 

“Figures,” Georgie says in a tone of voice Tim can’t decipher at all. 

Friday just fucking sucks. It’s busy but not consistently, which leaves with Tim large swathes of time between stressful rushes to work himself up about Georgie’s date tonight. He knows he has literally no reason to feel let down that this guy he just met, who was always upfront with him about the fact that he was here practicing _for a date,_ is in fact still going on that date. 

And yet. 

They show up around 7:30 pm, lots of time to get in a long leisurely game before they close at 9. 

The guy is fine-looking. Tim thought he would hate him on sight but he’s like. He’s fine. Even cute if you’re into that kind of boy band look. And he’s polite enough to Tim when he pays for himself, Georgie flashing his pass at him like it’s an inside joke. 

Georgie looks different somehow, and it takes Tim until after they’ve already left the office to put it together. He’d been wearing a hoodie, the one sleeve tucked into the pocket, which was an odd choice given how warm it was. But it feels rude to read something into that, so Tim just pushes it down and tries and fails and tries and fails to focus on his book. Even mafia romance not enough of an attention draw. 

Lex keeps giving him these darting sympathetic looks. “Are you sure you don’t want me to close up?” she ask for the third time, and he must really look distraught if she’s offering to close. 

“It’s fine,” Tim says, but he’s half-terrified when he goes out at 8:50 to make sure the course is clear of people, and to hurry out any stragglers, that he’ll stumble upon them. Maybe having taken a page out of Georgie’s brother’s friends’ book and taken up residence under the brontosaurus. Or maybe just sitting at a picnic table in front of the canteen, Georgie tapping that guy’s foot accidentally on purpose under the table. God, he doesn’t know which is worse, both kind of make him feel like he’s being eaten alive by velociraptors. 

Thankfully they’re already gone. Though Tim is sure he could come up with a hundred terrible things that that means given enough time and energy. 

He’s on autopilot as he runs through the closing checklist, and it feels nice to be good at something without trying too hard. 

He knows in a week, even in a few days he’ll feel okay about it. It’s not like it’s even the first time a cute boy has ever blown through his life, but it doesn’t stop it from sucking right now. From feeling like if everything was just slightly to the left that maybe it all could have meant something. 

But then Georgie is there. In the parking lot leaned up against Tim’s jeep with the stupid dinosaur logo on the side door, typing furiously on his phone as Tim walks over. He’s taken the hoodie off and it’s tied around his waist now, one foot pressed against Tim’s wheel. 

“Hey?” Tim says, annoyed with how much it sounds like a question. 

“Hey,” Georgie says, immediately shoving his phone into his pocket. 

“How’d the date go?” Tim asks, because he likes torturing himself apparently. 

“Terrible.” 

“Really!?” 

Georgie laughs. “Don’t sound so _pleased_ about it. It was. I mean. It was fine. My golf skills were amazing. He was alright.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t think you are,” Georgie says, bluntly but not unkindly. “That’s okay, I’m not really either. After he didn’t even pet the baby brachiosaurus I knew it wasn’t gonna work out.” 

_Why are you still here?_ Tim wants to ask, not trusting himself to come up with an answer. 

“So you’re— do you need like a ride or something?” Tim asks. 

“Maybe.” Georgie purses his lips. “You don’t— passes aren’t actually a thing are they?” 

It might be because he’s not expecting it, or because he’s not on the clock anymore, or maybe just because Georgie came right out and asked, but Tim shakes his head. “Not really, no.” 

“Just— it wasn’t like, a pity thing right?” 

Tims balks. “Fuck no, oh god. You were just so. Determined? And I just, I didn’t wanna be something in your way? Like I wanted to be something, someone, who helped you get there. Does that make sense?” 

It’s not like he expects Georgie to get super mad or anything, maybe a little annoyed or maybe just neutrally accepting. What he’s definitely not expecting though is for Georgie to blush, like actual honest to god blush, tucking his head bashfully and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Okay cool,” he says, looking up at Tim through the fringe of his hair for a half second and then looking away.

Everything shifts to left. 

“Mike Hanlon wouldn’t give me your number,” Georgie confesses suddenly. “And I didn’t want to be that asshole who asked you out while you were at work because I didn’t want to put you in a position where it was weird or you felt like you _had _to say yes because I was a paying customer. Even though I guess what I was paying for didn’t actually exist so… But no that still would have been weird.” 

“I’m off the clock,” Tim says, stupidly, but Georgie seems to get it. 

“Cool, would you want to— ” 

“Yes,” Tim says. 

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say? What if I was going to ask you to help me clean out the garage or something?” Georgie says. 

Tim shrugs, “Okay.” 

“Don’t agree to that, Bill will stand there the whole time asking you dad questions and insisting we leave the garage door open.” 

“Another time then,” Tim says jokingly, even though the idea of doing almost anything with Georgie kind of makes his insides go all molten lava. “I mean, we’ve been hanging around at my crappy place of work for like a week, your garage would arguably be an improvement.” 

“It’s not crappy,” Georgie says, suddenly serious, reaching out to adjust the collar on Tim’s shirt, “It’s the best.” 

“It is kind of the best,” Tim agrees, Georgie’s hand still hovering over his clavicle. “Wait was this. Was this your plan all along? To gain access to my dino golf fortune?” 

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Georgie says, crossing over to the other side of the jeep. “But just hypothetically would your boyfriend get to golf for free?” 

“Hypothetically,” Tim says, knees turning liquid. “If he wanted to.” 

“Interesting,” Georgie says, “Theoretically.” 

It takes all of Tim’s willpower to not lean over and kiss him over the gear shift as he climbs in. “So, Baskin-Robbins?” 

(Later, when Tim drops Georgie off at his house, Bill looking out the window like a dad in a sitcom, Georgie _will_ kiss him across the gear shift, his mouth still tasting like Rocky Road.) 

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to youshallnotfinditso for coming up with the revelation that is Georgie/Tim in the first place and being one half of my amazing beta team with evol_love. Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and you can find me on tumblr where I'm also phonecallfromgod.


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